Playing with Fire
by Idonquixote
Summary: "Pleasant goat and Big Big Wolf" experimental fic. The goat decides to play a dangerous game. One that includes friends, wolves, and very high stakes. Warnings: slash. het. character death, non-explicit sex, violence. blood. unhealthy habits. You have been warned- I take no responsibility for your decision to read.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello- thank you for clicking this little piece of writing because it's highly unlikely that anyone would find this so it's a blessing to me if you did!  
>Now, for some background info on this story which is VERY important before you start reading, especially if you have no idea what pleasant goat is.<strong>

**"Pleasant goat" is a chinese cartoon about a bunch of goats and the wolf couple that always tries to catch/eat them (each episode). Think of it as Coyote and roadrunner but with more violence, domestic abuse, alcoholism, attempted suicide, blatant use of guns/bombs, etc. Despite that, it's just like any other children's show, complete with sentient suns and moons, and your typical funny talking animals.**

**I wrote this fic while I was in a particularly angsty mood. It is by all means, something that would NEVER happen in the show's canon but believe it or not, is not that hard to believe given the context of the show. Try watching a few episodes and you'll understand.**

**A few last warnings. There is slash and bi (and some het) and violence and character death in this. But the "smut" is non-explicit (I'm not twisted enough to make it that way). Also, the "pleasant goat" (the main character of the show, also known as "happy goat" and "Weslie" for some unknown reason in the English dub) is paired with almost _everyone_. This will not have a very happy ending and it will not be very romantic. Think of it as my trying to make a dark fic of a kid's show while not defying canon. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the read!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf"**

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><p><em>A tangle of wool and fur and grass and twigs and gray and white. Howls and bleats, too quiet and too soft and too loud and too hard. Pricks of pain and blows of pleasure and bits of heat and dirty soil and soiled dirt and ravaged grass. The horn went up and down and in, a mix of wet white wool and matted fur. The fangs went in and out and tore and nibbled, too gentle and too brash, causing too much pain and not enough pain, too much pleasure and never enough. The short white tail came again and again as hooves kicked and paws groped, groped, touched. The claws dug deep in the ground, scooping all bits of earth within its reach as the goat went in and in- horns against bark, pants and gasps, bleats and howls.<em>

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><p>He never understood the game, never quite grasped its importance, never quite knew why they kept it on and on. It wasn't until he saw her cradling Grey's mangled body, sobbing into his chest, knees soaked in her husband's blood that he finally knew.<p>

It was never a game.

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><p>Instinct came to him during the insects' mating season and never left and plagued his dreams and beat his mind. Friends and neighbors and enemies and teachers, all melded in a mesh of wet sense- fantasies of each and every one, of hooves on horns, of paws and fangs, of pink bows and yellow bibs, of patched hats and dented pans, of bent canes and blue bandanas. Pink bows dominated.<p>

He followed her to the meadow, and stayed with her in the morning, and picked her flowers, and watered her plants, and cleaned her things, and sent her letters and gifts and roses and tulips and sunflowers and poems. He whispered sweet words and pretty promises and vows of romance and blissful pleasure. Grass and butterflies and bows and dolls and doilies and sunshine. Pink bows in his mouth, hooves on hooves, delicate skin nibbled and groped, wool melding with wool, under rays of sun and above pretty plants. Flowers in her head, in her wool, between her hooves, his hooves, his head, their mouths.

Suns and moons and mornings and night. Of pink bows and a jingling bell.

Not enough. Instinct and mates and sense. Not enough. Time drawled on. Not enough.

Her admirer never spoke to him. Grunts and rude bleats and jealous eyes were all it took; he hated him with all his heart, with all the force of a friendship gone sour and betrayal and envy and murderous intent. He was hurt and fascinated and scared and guilty and smug and satisfied and interested. He sent letters of apology, of sincerity, of lies, of sorrow, of guilt, of lies and lies. Forgiveness came slowly.

They played in the court and ran in the mornings and picked grass and ate in the noon and played on the fields and raced one another and fought and joked. Soccer balls and blue bandanas and tough words and growing muscles. Blue bandanas between his hooves, horns in mouths, a jingling bell. Masculine bleats and wool against wool, pressed against trees, against walls, against beds; force and power and fights for dominance.

Suns and moons and mornings and night. Of blue bandanas.

On and on, fight and kiss and grope and hit. On and on. Not enough.

His friend slept and ate and yawned and slept. The words "I'm hungry" were all it took, and the words "I want food" and the words "I'm tired" and "I'm not" and "I am" and "No, you're not" and "don't stop" and "never." Cake and grass and chips and beds and pillows and sheets. Tufts of wool in his mouth and pure dominance and falling asleep and waking up and eating while groping and groping while eating. Yellow bibs in his mouth.

Rest and wake. Wake and rest. Eat and sleep. Play and play. Play and play. Not enough.

He needed more thrills, more pleasure, more pieces to the game.

His teacher was old and aged and slow and kind. He expressed his admiration for the old one's knowledge and interest for the stories of old and aspirations to be just like him and lies and lies. He awakened the long buried youth in the elder body and painful slow, pleasurable times started- bent canes against his body, aged ears in his mouth, prolonged bleats and low slow moans. Long bleats and slow moves and shaky gropes.

Not enough.

He gave her sweet vows and honey words and lovely compliments and pretty poems. He admired her intellect and softness and bravery and strength. He let her know and told her and sat with her and gave her gifts and looks of longing. Formalities and soft beds and soft, soft touches and light, light kisses and feathery gropes. Heavenly and angelic and pleasure without pain and blissful and peaceful.

Not enough.

The wolf always came and failed and came and failed and came and failed again. He was always caught, tied and boiled, and almost chopped. Thrill and excitement and fear and arousal. Patched hats and dented pans and gray fur and toothy grins. The wolf's failure was his success. He stood in front of his enemy, hanging on a twig, about to fall down the waterfall, and he knew that no matter what he said or did or touched or hit or groped, nobody would ever know. Predator and prey and dominance and submission and pride and humility.

The game thrilled and exhilarated- he wanted to hear howls and apologies and cries of pain and professions of love. He let himself get caught and tied and boiled more often and again and again. He shouted challenges and advances and insults and compliments.

They met night after night in a lonely meadow. It was enough. More than enough. Blood on wool, pink and white, hooves hitting fur, paws pinning down, scratched timber and broken rocks. Water and sweat and blood and everything else. Pain before pleasure, prey before predator, consuming and escaping, meat and grass, pleasure and pain, bliss and silence, low growls and violent snarls and delighted purrs.

He regretted wasting time before. It was always the game of goat and wolf, hunter and hunted, it always had been. He should never have let pink bows and bent canes and blue bandanas and yellow bibs and soft wool distract him.

"I want you" and "eat me" and "take me" and "boil me" and "tie me" and "you want me" and "bite me" and "you love me" and "leave her" and "I've always wanted you" and "you've always wanted me" rang in the dark. The patched hat was in his mouth, punctured by a horn, groped by a hoof. Rolling and tossing and biting and fighting. He woke with fur in his teeth and slept with cloth in his hooves and woke with blood.

Again and again. He'd die without it. He'd rather die than live without it.

Lust became fondness and that became joy and that became love. Romance plagued his mind and hit his heart and tangled his insides. The words "I need to go home" and "she's waiting for me" and "we can't let her find out" beat him and stabbed him and shot him. He held onto "I'll be back" and "I'll be back" and "I'll be back."

"Come to my home. She's not there."

Excitement and joy and fluttering heartbeats and laughter. Gentle paws and fond caresses and playful nibbles and barely a scratch. In the dank abode, he pressed against the cold, cold bricks and teased for more and waited and waited. Kisses down his back and the feel of cloth and fur and warmth and lust and hunger.

"Are you done yet?" she asked.

Cold, cold, freezing walls. Lies and lies and lies. The wolf had lied, lied from the start, lied then, and lied now, lied, lied, lied. She found out- she always knew- he told her, confided in her, promised her, promised him to her.

Steel against his back. The knife cut through wool and paused and never pierced.

"Any last words?"

Malice and deceit and humor and irony.

"Drop dead," he spat.

He shoved paws away and steered the steel and turned the hilt and sent them both falling to the ground. He threw them kicks and punches and blows and curses and insults. They fought over the steaming pot and knocked it over and burned the logs and fire caught the wolf's tail. Wild bleats and savage howls and familiar struggles and exploding castles. He ran away as the words "curse you!" and "I'll be back" and "I'll be back" rang behind him.

The stakes were higher.

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><p><strong>That's all for now, folks. There will possibly be 1 or 2 more chapters. If you want them, of course. Hopefully, the style wasn't too confusing.<strong>

**Also, if you think this story can get away with a T rating instead of M, please let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! I never expected this fic to get any reviews, let along 5. Thank you all for reading and clicking! I don't know if anyone will read this, but if you do, here it is- the end of my pleasant goat dark fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf**

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><p>The stakes were higher.<p>

Mornings passed and evenings went and the goats acted as if nothing had ever changed. The slow goat still taught and lectured and smiled and guided. The pretty goat still smiled and laughed and sewed and sang. The lazy goat still slept and ate and slept and ate. The fit goat still played and ran and bounced and played. The warm goat still smiled and played and-

The happy goat could not.

All he could think about was the locusts and their ways and the way they chirped and mated and flew and came and left. The grey wolf still came by, with his zany plans, and uncooked schemes, and stupid grins. He would fail and fail and fail.

But the happy goat could not go back to before. He could not forget the wool and fur and blood and biting and scratching and those false words. He could not look at his companions the same or the wolf or any of them. He could not and he could not and he could not.

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><p>It was a day when the grass was damp and the air was moist and the sky was a shade of dull dank grey. It was the day that the wolf had finally won.<p>

The goat didn't know why. Maybe it was because he was too slow or too dumb or too blinded or too young, but he had arrived too late. The tan goat was in the pot by then, chopped into slices of stew.

"Grey! Grey-" he stuttered at the door, eyes wide and wide and wide. "Grey... you... you."

His friend had wandered off in the afternoon, spurned by the pretty goat and her sweet smell and pink ribbons and cutting words. His friend had blamed him- it was the happy goat that had won her heart. It was always the happy goat. And he had gone and done all that he did and she still loved him and she would still love him.

His friend had wandered away and the grey wolf had waited. And the wolf had pounced and quicker than ever before, taken his prey home. And for the first time, the happy goat realized that the wolf was sick of losing the game.

Grey wolf killed the fit goat on the spot, brought him home, and skinned him, and took the wool and boiled the meat, and it was in the stew.

The goat stood at the door, trembling and mad and heartbroken and sick. The meat smelled _good_, like well-cooked mushrooms and the pretty goat's soup. He doubled over and barfed and coughed and coughed and coughed.

"I don't want to eat a sick goat," the red wolf said, her shrill voice mean and cold, "get rid of him."

"Right away, darling."

The door closed.

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><p>The pretty goat was silent after that. She spoke to him in soft whispers and stayed in her home and kept to herself. The lazy goat slept and slept and slept. It was the old goat that fell ill and wouldn't speak and sobbed and apologized and cried.<p>

The village was in a frenzy. The stakes were higher, so much higher.

He couldn't see the wolves the same way. They weren't just bothersome neighbors anymore. He couldn't bring himself to look at the wolf's pictures or think about his exploits or anything that he had ever done with the grey wolf.

He thought and plotted and schemed and plotted. He would do it before the wolf struck again.

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><p>The grey wolf came from a pack of seven. They were coarse and rude and tough and petty and hungry. This the goat knew.<p>

He found the leader, the cocky wolf, his enemy's cousin, by the river. He had asked their whereabouts in the forest and risked being caught and butchered and eaten to talk with him.

"So why ya coming to me for, lamb?"

"Grey caught a goat and ate it too."

"Oh?" The wolf's face was falling, his nose scrunching, his posture stiffening. "Is that so?"

And the wolf was in his face and grabbing at his horns and pinning him to the ground and going in and in and in. "This what you said my cuz did?"

"Yes!"

Yes. Yes. Yes. He hated them all and wanted it to explode and wanted it to never end just so he could pretend it had never happened and that the grey wolf had even cared a fraction and that his friend had not died and that the cocky wolf was not going in and in and in.

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><p>"Dear Grey decided to hide mutton from us," the cousin said. The pack cursed and yelped and howled and stomped. They circled the goat.<p>

"Ya know what else he did?" And he said a word the goat had hoped never to hear, never to hear it stated, never to hear- "he fucked this goat."

They were laughing and screaming and cursing and crying for blood. "Does someone like that deserve to live? Some low-life liar like him?"

No and no and maybe not and no and whatever and maybe not. The goat felt the heat close in and the fire in the pack and their savage laughs ring his ears. He had a plan and they were going to follow.

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><p>The goat wasn't about to touch the grey wolf's son. He couldn't do it because in the end the cub had been his friend and he couldn't bring himself to set eyes on another wolf, not even one he liked. The cub knew what his father had done. The cub stayed in his own room ever since the tan goat died- from what the happy goat gathered from the lazy goat- the cub knew then that he was a wolf and always would be and that things would never go back to the way they were.<p>

But it was not the cub the goat wanted: it was the wolf.

He fixed a recording together from pieces of the cub's voice, a prank they had all participated in so long ago. "Help me, papa."

And as he handed it to the muscular wolf and as he ran down the path, he knew the trap had been laid and that the game would come to an end, because "papa" would come. The lazy goat had helped- he threw rocks at the wolf's home, at the highes window in the dead of night, and lured the cub out. They would play like they used to, the happy goat had promised.

And they did. The cub would be with the lazy goat, who could never ever ever bring himself to harm it.

Morning came and the cub was missing and the parents was frantic and howling and screaming up a ruckus. He banged on the doors.

"Grey! Grey! They took your son!"

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><p>Revenge had never been so sweet, so satisfying, so justifiable. The goat weaved a web of lies and faked false tears and told the wolf that the pack had taken the cub. They were upset he didn't share the meat. They wanted a trade.<p>

"Why would you help me?" the wolf asked, suspicious and shifty.

The cousin had given him a note and the goat procured it and the grey wolf's paws shook with rage and he gulped and without a word, he left the home. "Stay behind, darling." And for once, the wife obeyed.

"Grey, it's this way," he said, so convincing he forgot that he was lying, "hurry or we won't make it. I would never hurt him, Grey. You know that."

That was not a lie.

He led him deep into the forest, deeper than the goat had ever gone before, but the pack was hiding and he knew it. The goat stepped back as the wolf went forward, eager to hear the distant "papa, help me."

The boulder rolled down and knocked him back. But the goat knew that would not be enough to do any damage, not for someone like the grey wolf. The wolf tumbled back with a curse. A trunk swung the other way and knocked him back, the tip sharpened and pushing into his shoulder. The goat braced himself for the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh and the wolf's cry of pain.

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><p>The stakes were higher.<p>

The goat led the wolf further on, the latter a bruised mess. "You don't look so good." "Shut up." The wolf clutched at his shoulder, the blood between his paws and trailing down his limb. He must have been in pain- the goat turned away for a small smile.

A stick of dynamite was in their way, buried underground as the pack had said. Grey took another step and it went off and he was down again. But he got back up, panting and cursing and shouting. "The lot of you will pay, you hear!"

Echoes and silence and bits of blood and gritting teeth. They went around another bend.

"Watch out!" the goat shouted. He pushed the wolf and he fell down the pit, into a small forest of sharpened stakes. "Sorry!"

"Darn you!" the wolf gasped back.

The goat was getting annoyed- surely the wolf wouldn't last this long, would he? And yet Grey was crawling back up, covered in gashes and bruises and burns and wincing and wheezing. As if on cue, the muscular one appeared, the tall wolf who had voiced so many "maybe nots."

"Get out... of my way."

The grey wolf was up again. "No." The goat stood back once more as the wolves fell on one another, punching and clawing and biting and snapping and yelling. Grey rolled aside and was kicked and beaten and thrown and broken and pounded on and pounded on and pounded on.

He rolled again and coughed, a spout of blood that let the goat know it was almost over.

"Are your ribs broken?" the other wolf was asking, out of breath and bending down. He put one paw on Grey's side and pressed. The goat fell from the noise- he didn't know the wolf could howl so loudly and scream so long.

But Grey was up again, pinning the taller wolf down and landing blow upon blow on the other's head.

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><p>He was reassured by the cocky wolf's words: "my cousin's durable, not invincible." And as Grey stumbled down the path, torn and bleeding and bruised and battered, the goat was convinced. He was convinced that he could save the village and win their game and avenge his comrade and win the game and win the game.<p>

The cloaked wolf winked and smirked and hid in the tree and he winked back and pretended not to notice. Feigned ignorance and swirling forests and ending games and winks and gestures that sealed it all.

"Don't go in there," the cloaked one warned, all deceit and lies and lies.

Grey fell and stood and fell and stood again. Snarls and gasps and blood and limits.

"_He_'s in there, isn't he?" Snarls and rasps.

There was no reply or blink or confirmation or truth. The goat feigned innocence and ignorance and an air of uncertainty and Grey growled and pushed him aside and limped further down into the dark, dark woods. He followed the wolf with almost bubbling glee.

Grey froze, staring at the tape player, eyes wide and wide and wide. He turned and looked at the happy goat.

He grinned, a dry, disbelieving grin. "Little goat... you..."

The wolf fell, crumpled, folded, collapsed, the last step in the game. The rest of the pack came out and circled the body, all jeers and scolds and insults. They fell on him, one by one, tearing and biting and beating and ripping and killing.

The goat watched, the glee no longer there, a feeling of unsettling horror taken form. Grey was a horrible beaten broken mess of blood.

"Thanks a lot goat," the cocky wolf panted. "Now we've got a favor to ask you."

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><p>"Take the body back. Show it to that bitch and let her know: game over."<p>

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><p>The goat dragged the wolf back, muttering to himself, afraid to look at the mess, trying not to think about the horrible horrible smell of blood or the deep dark red trailing behind them. And he couldn't stop think about the wolf meeting him at the gate, the rolling in the dark, everything they had done together-<p>

He killed Grey Wolf. He killed Grey Wolf.

He arrived at the wolf's door and knocked. The red wolf opened and stared at them, eyes wide and wide and wide. She opened her mouth and said nothing and paled and shook her head and dropped her pan.

"Game over. This- this is for my friend."

He dragged Grey in and lay him in front of her. Red couldn't find the words to speak, couldn't find the means to act. All she did was stumble forward and fall to on all fours and crawl to her mate and hold him and sniff him and let out a howl, a long howl.

She screamed his name. "Grey! Grey! Grey! Grey! Grey!"

He never understood the game, never quite grasped its importance, never quite knew why they kept it on and on. It wasn't until he saw her cradling Grey's mangled body, sobbing into his chest, knees soaked in her husband's blood that he finally knew.

It was never a game.

He left her sobbing and howling and hugging Grey's broken body. It was never a game- the wolves had meant to hunt them from the very start. They had always been dangerous. They had always meant to.

And as he sobbed to himself, disgusted and disappointed and shocked, the goat knew that he had meant to kill the wolf, meant to tear him apart, meant to make his family suffer the way their village had.

He was never any better than the big bad wolf.

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><p>The red wolf left the next day. The goat stayed in the old one's home the entire time- he didn't want to know what became of the wolves. Grey's wife had taken her son back and left as soon as his body had been taken care of.<p>

It was over. Grey wolf was out of their lives for good.

The happy goat knew the old goat was disappointed, knew that none of them would ever be the same, knew that any other animal would never look at him the same way again. He didn't like to share the details.

He was sick of locusts and their horrible ways, sick of the pack that replaced Grey's family, sick of it all. Some had called him a hero. Some had not known what to say. There was nothing to be said.

He knew now that playing with fire would always get one burned. There was nothing left to burn. He curled himself up and cried in the old goat's lap.

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><p><strong>So that's the end. Please review if you want and I hope that was worth reading!<strong>

**I'm sorry for how dark this got but I think I lived up to the challenge. Anyway, let me know if any of you are interested in more pleasant goat fics- I have some friendlier things in mind. I don't really care about pairings since I pretty much ship anyone with anyone.**


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